Sometimes I'm not staring at a blank screen for hours and I'm actually productive. I said sometimes. Writing for: Supernatural Requests are: OPEN Prompts: OPEN Imagines: OPEN Drabbles: OPEN Just drop an ask in my inbox or send me a message with the character & prompt/idea you'd like written! Marvel Sideblog: timelessoldiers.tumblr.com
Prompt Number Six, “Cursed” // She had worked so hard, but it had always fallen flat.
She had always felt cursed, always felt like bad luck had been on her side. It was a type of poison that coursed through her veins. Whenever she tried to right her wrongs, fix her foolish mistakes, the effort would only found a way of backfiring against her. Nothing ever worked out with a soft, positive outcome.
She had worked so hard, but it had always fallen flat.
Sipping on another shot of whiskey, she leaned back in the chair. She should have taken it straight, but it was far too strong for her. The stinging against her throat, a bitter reminder of every single thing that had ever gone south for the hunter. So she only sipped, felt the burn between her lips, and forced herself to swallow the reminder of failure.
“What are you doing, love?”
His voice broke the silence, echoing through the tainted glasses and failed mistakes. With the rim of the glass against her lips, she paused. Only briefly, a mere glance, to cast her gaze towards the angel.
“Doing what I do best, Balthazar.”
Her words were a mumble, lips pressed against the rim.
The creak of the old floor caressed her ears, his weight drawing closer. She could feel his presence pressing against the back of her chair, his shadow eclipsing her small body. The weight of his hands on the back of that flimsy chair, finally earning her attention.
And his fingers curled around the bottle of a lukewarm beverage.
“Stop drowning yourself in your own hatred.”
His breath was warm against her ear, his cheek pressed against her own as she watched with helpless eyes, the bottle tugged from her grip and raised above her head.
The words were strangled in her own throat, a soft protest that she swallowed because between everything they had been through, she knew he was right. Despite her pride--- a swell of air in her chest--- she resigned to leaning her head back, meeting those dark blues.
“When will I get anything right?” Her words were a slur, a mumble, but her eyes pulled at his grace.
He wanted to speak, say anything to calm her clouded thoughts, but his voice was lost and his mind fought against itself. Instead, he found himself kneeling beside her and losing his thoughts within her own lost gaze.
“I can’t help you when you’re like this,” he murmured.
His voice seemed coarse, almost distant as he spoke.
“Well I’m so terribly so--”
He cut her off, a swift movement as he rose from a bent knee, and swiveled her chair to face himself. Towering over her, his form shadowing everything around her. She tried to lean away, swallowing the words of objection.
“You’re not a terrible human.”
It was the way his eyes seemed to scavenge her soul, the way they picked apart every fiber of her being with just a simple glance.
“You’re not cursed, sweetheart.”
These words that fell so quickly passed his lips without a single ounce of hesitation, without a second thought.
She wanted to speak against them, voice her own concerns, but instead she found herself with her forehead pressed against his shoulder, his arms encircling her small form with absolute concern.
And it was in the way he breathed against her ear, his words all too sincere for an angel of abandonment.
Her words were a soft sob against the fabric of her comforter.
“Please, I need you.”
Her eyes were raw from countless hours of crying, the fabric bawled up between her fists. Her face buried deep within the waves of fabric, her breath short with echoes of her sobs.
She couldn’t stop the tears. She couldn’t stop the constricting of her chest with every deep breath.
“Please, come back.”
Those words she had begged, over and over again. A simple sentence that asked for salvation; for help. She had pleaded until her throat became raw, and her voice all too coarse.
She had begged, and yet---
And he never answered
“I love you.” She had spoken so softly, her voice broken.
Prompt Number Five, “Memory” // That voice, a distant memory in her mind.
Her eyes were heavy, weighed down by incessant exhaustion. It was not just a weight on her resilient eyes, but one that pressed harshly against her shoulders. Another long night of endless research, and she found herself not one step closer to uncovering the mysteries behind the demon that had been wreaking havoc on the town she currently resided it. Just another temporary motel room, and another temporary place she thoughtlessly called “home”.
Lulling her head back against the cracked leather of the chair, she allowed herself a moment to breath, to close her eyes against the dim lighting in the room. Just for a moment, she had promised herself.
It’d just be a brief pause against the flow of time.
‘I know it’s important, and we’re gonna catch this son of a bitch.’
That voice, a distant memory in her mind.
‘But you’ve got to get some rest. It’s not worth it, if you kill yourself over it.’
He’d said it time and time again, often when she’d over-analyzed every detail, and worked her health into the ground. He’d always been there to make sure she never found herself on the cusp of breaking down.
Dean always had a way of keeping her in check. He had a way of reminding her, when she had lost all sight of taking care of herself. Always so subtle with the way he took care of her, when she couldn’t take care of herself. Overthinking the case, countless hours rummaging through aged textbooks, and the sudden fear of failure--- he always found a way to bring her back from the edge of self destruction.
But Dean wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there to pull her back to reality. He wasn’t there to close the book in front of her, after carefully creasing the corner of the page she had been on. He wasn’t there to urge her to finally climb out of that damn chair, and carry her exhausted body to bed.
He wasn’t there.
She breathed out a sigh, opening her eyes once more. A worn body slowly hunching over the aged inscriptions in front of her.
No, he wasn’t there.
She closed the text book with gentle hands.
Even if he wasn’t there--- his memory would always remain, a soft and constant reminder in the back of her mind.
Prompt Number Four; “Nostalgic.” // Too long, far too long.
It was a chillier evening than the forecast would have called for during a humid Summer. A faint breeze ruffled the branches, the creaking of aged trees was ominous yet familiar. The sun had already retired and allowed the moon to cast its light down on the small cabin. She sat out on the porch, a fleece blanket curled around her shoulders, and her eyes fixated on the drifting clouds that caressed the almost full moon. The rocking chair beside her creaked, earning her undivided attention. An old tan tabby cat curled up on the cushion of the vacant chair, settling into a fluffy ball.
“At least someone’s putting that chair to use,” she murmured.
Her gaze absently glanced back to the creeping clouds. How long had it been since he had sat beside her on that rocking chair? How long had it been since they shared the comforting cover of the stars? How long had it been since they had shared the familiar blanket of silence?
Too long, far too long.
And the smell of fresh soil, churned up from the endless days of pouring rain and rolling thunderstorms, tickled her nose in a soft essence of familiarity.
The night’s atmosphere stirred the memories alive, soft flashbacks pulling at the tangled strings of her heart. The way he’d slouch down in that chair, the fresh cup of coffee cradled in his calloused hand. The way his words would bring such comfort, his philosophy of life falling passed his lips with such casual conversations. It was the moment their glasses would chime together--- whether it be tea, coffee, or something a little bit stronger.
“I miss him.”
Her words fell passed separated lips, no one to acknowledge them or respond with reassuring words.
It was an empty space between her chair, and what used to be his, and she leaned back, slouching against the wooden planks that pressed against her shoulders.
“Someday...” she breathed, “That lonely boy will come back...”
He loved the way her cheeks would flush a rosy tint when she found herself staring into an empty glass of wine. The way her words would roll off her tongue, a slight slur tangled between the syllables. He loved the way she’d get so excited over absolutely nothing. The way her dimples showed as she flashed him a grin.
She always found herself stumbling over her own feet, a tripping and bumbling mess of adorableness that he could never deny. He’d always make sure to catch her within his arms, a protective force that was always there for her. And the murmur of confusion against his chest, sweet words of confession pressed against his collarbone.
And he’d hold her, arms encircling her lower back, fingers entwined as he made sure she was steady. It was in the way his heartbeat would flutter, skip every other breath, and he’d curl his fingers in her hair, pulling her closer.
She always giggled endlessly, and even he knew she’d lose herself in that moment--- as did he.
She was his favorite mistake.
He was her favorite regret.
And they’d always lose themselves between the bottles and whispers of kindness.
And he had never realized, how much it would hurt to lose her.
A/N: Prompt Number Three from my own little prompt list; “Midnight.” .// He only visited her at midnight.
He only visited her at midnight; when the clock struck twelve and the pendulum swung tedious, the loud chime echoing the empty halls.
He only visited her in the pitch black of night; when the lights would flicker and dim, casting shadows along the walls.
He only visited her when her heart was heavy with grief; when her shaking fingers were wrapped around a cold bottle, her vision weary from exhaustion and confusion.
“Rough night again?” His voice was something of an eerie melody in the silence of the room.
She’d lift her tired gaze to his outline in the doorway. He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. The dim flicker of the lamp cast a shadow on his face, leaving her unable to see his eyes in the dull light. Despite the obstruction of darkness, she knew his eyes held no judgment, no malicious intentions to degrade her late night behavior.
“Isn’t it always?” Her question was empty, her thoughts already slipping back into a tangled abyss.
The wood creaked beneath his weight, a shift in movement, and then the familiar thumping of his boots reached her ears. It was the familiar sinking of the cushion beside her, and the warmth of another person, that warranted her attention.
“Y’know I’m all ears,” he said, his tone all too casual.
“Why does an Angel only visit at night?”
The question caught him off guard, and she could tell in the way he shifted his weight on the couch, casting a glance towards her.
“You know, busy Angel schedule---”
She knew he was lying. Every bone in her body quivered with raw instincts, every nerve in her spine sent shock waves to her brain. Yes, she knew he was lying, blatantly so, but it would never change a thing.
Exhaustion swept over her body, and she leaned back into his side, his arm snaking tightly around her shoulders. The silence was comforting, the strum of their heartbeats in her ears was a soft chant that she was more than welcoming of.
A/N: Prompt Number Two from my own little prompt list; “Forgotten.” .// She had forgotten what it felt like to be within his arms.
She had forgotten how it felt to have his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, the way his chin dug into the top of her head.
She had forgotten the scent of his jacket, the way aged Scotch and Bourbon tickled her nose.
She had forgotten the way his stumble scratched against her cheek, coarse but all too familiar.
And she had forgotten the roughness of his kiss, the wanting desire behind every breathy pause between trembling lips.
“I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long, love.” His voice was a rough whisper against her ear.
She pressed her cheek to his, almost begging for the familiar warmth of her demon.
“I know,” she murmured, “Business before pleasure.”
It was in way his lips curled into that familiar smile against the corner of her mouth before his lips found hers once more, that left her knees weaker than before and her heart a deafening thump against her ribs.
“I promise we won’t be apart for as long next time, darling.”
She forced herself to stifle the chuckle that attempted to slip passed her lips. After all this time, she knew her demon better than that, knew that when it came to work, he’d find himself down another rabbit hole until everything had gone as planned.
A/N: Prompt Number Twenty-Three of “50 Dialogue Prompts.” //. Jack and you sneak back into the bunker after a midnight adventure.
The moon was high in the night sky, looming over the tall trees. Its bright glow illuminating their way as they crept as carefully as possible towards the building.
“The moon is so big and beautiful tonight!” He exclaimed, stopping briefly to gaze upon the brilliant sphere.
“Shush, Jack!” Her voice was hushed and urgent.
“But look how wonderful it is.” He motioned excitedly.
She took a moment to pause, turning her attention towards the man. Amused eyes followed to where he had been pointing. It was indeed a gorgeous screen with a mist of thin clouds teasing its existence. The moon drifted in and out of sight, yet its brilliant light washed over Jack’s amazed face. Something about the way his curious eyes reflected the innocence behind his exasperated words, left her unable to reprimand the young man on his lack of covertness.
“Yeah, it is pretty incredible.”
Jack turned his attention to her, his smile so sincere that it was contagious. There was an almost impish twinkle in his eyes, something she hadn't noticed before, or perhaps it hadn't been there until that moment. Returning his smile, she nudged his arm and nodded towards the door.
“Come on, we should sneak back in before anyone realizes we dipped.”
He gave an agreeable nod, following her lead up the stairs.
“Thank you for the adventure tonight. I had a lot of fun. We---”
“Jack, we have to be quiet,” she spoke hurriedly, cutting the young man off.
“Oh, right. I’m sorry.”
“And why do you two have to be quiet?” A voice spoke up, disrupting their attempt at being stealthy.
The suddenness of Sam’s voice earned a cringe of defeat from the woman, a frown ever apparent on his face. Slowly, she turned to face the younger Winchester, knowing they had been caught red-handed.
“Sam--”
“It’s because we just---”
Frantically, she clamped a hand down on Jack’s shoulder, interrupting the oblivious man from spilling a truthful response.
“We just didn’t want to wake you boys,” she lied.
Jack cast a confused look towards her, opening his mouth to speak once more, but finding himself cut off again.
“We were up late doing research and didn’t want to be noisy while getting a midnight snack.”
There was a moment of pause between the three of them, Sam eyeing the hunter and nephilim with slight skepticism. The silence between them was uncomfortable and deafening enough that she could swear she heard her own heartbeat.
“All right,” Sam finally spoke after another tedious minute. “Dean’s already passed out, and I’m turning in for the night, but you two should be fine without waking either of us.”
She breathed a faint sigh of relief and gave a quick nod.
“I hope you sleep well.” Jack gave a small wave in Sam’s direction before he turned to follow her lead.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
It was almost instantly that she winced at the thought of another drawn out conversation with the Winchester.
“Maybe park a little further away from the Bunker, if you’re trying to sneak back in. Just a thought.”
She could swear she heard the amusement in Sam’s voice, but when she went to face him for confirmation, he had already slipped around the corner. Instead, she was met with Jack’s confused stare and furrowed brows.
“He knew that we left?”
“It definitely looks at way, doesn't it?”
“So why did you lie then?”
An absentminded shrug rolled off her shoulders.
“I didn’t think he did at the time, and I didn’t want a lecture.”
“He didn’t lecture us though.”
“Yeah, biggest surprise since you came into this world.”
When he cocked his head to the right, she offered him a reassuring smile.
“Trust me, it’s a good thing.”
“Which one?” He questioned.
“Both.”
As Jack opened his mouth to speak again, she reached for his arm, tugging him to follow her.
“Come on, let’s get some sleep.”
He didn’t fight the gesture or the suggestion, instead opting to follow closely behind her as they began to make their way down the hall.
“Yes, I like that idea.”
“Good because you didn’t have a choice, Jack.”
“I’m going to always remember tonight. Thank you.”
A/N: Prompt Number Twelve of “50 Dialogue Prompts.” // Chuck checks in on his favorite editor.
The evening air was warm and comforting, a delicate breeze ruffling the curtains inside the cabin. It was the type of afternoon that warranted a cup of tea and open windows. The sun was beginning to creep down behind the trees, but the sky remained illuminated, casting rays of sunlight against the dark oak surface of the desk. Busied fingers had spent the majority of the day tapping lightly along the keyboard, pausing just briefly in order to retrieve her tea or put another kettle on the stove.
She let out a long and tentative sigh, her fingers hovering over the keys.
“It might be time for an actual break,” she murmured to the quieted room.
It had been hours upon hours of endless editing; back and forth between word choices, research, and the occasionally deletion of entire sections. Countless times she had sent an inquiring text to the author, requesting permission to switch around or change certain dialogues.
Leaning her head back, she messaged her pointer finger and thumb against the bridge of her nose. Another heated huff passed between her lips. She stared absently at the old beams of the ceiling, eyes tracing every crevice and detail of the oak.
“What are you thinking about?” A voice spoke, interrupting her thoughts and earning a surprised yelp from the distracted woman.
Swiveling around in her seat, she fixed her gaze upon the familiar face of the author she had grown to adore.
“Chuck, you scared the crap outta me!” She exclaimed, placing a hand over her thumping heart.
A chuckle slipped between parted lips. “I’m sorry, that wasn't my intention.”
“Wait, when did you sneak in?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t sneak in,” he protested.
“I certainly didn’t hear you come in,” she countered, “so I’d consider that as sneaking.”
With a soft shrug of his shoulders, Chuck placed a bag down on the table. Turning away from her slightly he began to remove the contents, arranging them on the table.
“I thought you might be hungry, so I figured I’d be nice and grab you a bite to eat.”
Casting a glance in her direction, he added, “Considering, you’ve probably only pumped yourself full of tea.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“What kind of person would I be if I let my editor starve?” He questioned, all too playfully.
She couldn't help but smile at the remark and his kind gesture. Easing herself out of chair, she casually made her way over to stand beside him.
“So, you never answered my question,” he said, handing her one of the sandwiches.
“Hm?”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Oh,” she mused, “just wondering how such a fantastic writer could have so many inconsistencies within his draft.”
“Ouch! You know right where to hurt a man!” He gasped, mockingly placing his hand against his chest.
She playfully nudged him with her elbow. “You should take up acting as your next career choice.”
“If my next book fails, I just might have to.”
She leaned closer to him, a teasing grin forming on her lips. “Don’t worry, it won’t. After all, that’s why you have me. I’ll always make sure it’s perfectly polished off.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d have two-hundred and twenty-three spelling mistakes, thirty-seven grammar corrections, and one-hundred and seven punctuation problems.”
A/N: Prompt Number One from my own little prompt list; “Always.”
It had been years since she was involved in the dangerous works of that underground life. Years since she last laid eyes on the familiar faces of hunters that came and went. So many years had swept passed since she had last held a knife in her hand, always her preferred weapon of choice. There were some days she reminisced over the many nights in dark alleys or creeping through graveyards. Sometimes, she'd fondly muse to herself as the faces of thankful strangers flashed across her memory. Most nights, though, she'd drown the screams out with a bottle of Scotch and a long draw of her cigarette.
Yes, it had been many years but the one face she could never quite wash from her mind was that of a bumbling writer just trying to do what he thought was the right thing. No matter how many empty glasses collected on the table before her, his face was always the most vivid image before her blurring vision.
If you asked her, how many nights did she think of him?
Those lips would turn up in an exhausted smile and she'd lean her head back, let a sigh press passed her lips, and answer in the most nostalgic of whispers.
"There isn't a single night that goes by, where my head hits the pillow, that I don't think of him. He's the first face I remember in the morning, and the last one I wish to see at night."
"Always?"
She'd close her eyes, the smile never leaving her lips.
"Oh yes, my friend, always."
A/N: Crowley leaves the little witch alone to negotiate with the Winchesters. But will his demons step out of line when the King is away?
Chapter Two; Cautious
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How many nights had it been since he had taken her to the dark and isolated place he called home? How many days had passed since she had glimpsed daylight through the flutter of the curtains? She had barely been able to keep track of the days that blurred into nights in what seemed like a record left on repeat.
Crowley had left the night before to attempt some callous negotiations with the Winchesters. Of course, he had left the demons in charge of her capture, left them with stern orders, as she eavesdropped through the door. Orders that directed them to make sure, under no circumstances— that should she find the courage to attempt to escape— that it would be her biggest mistake.
She groaned, the palms of her hands pressed firmly against her face.
It was another morning of endless captivity. Just another morning where the sun didn't shine quite as brightly as it should. She rubbed her weary eyes, casting her blurred vision to the dormant window. Inhaling the stagnant air within her quiet room, her chest rose with a labored heave. The dust of untouched objects tickled her nose, the flecks wafting between the thin string of sunlight.
Another labored breath and she forced herself to climb out of the oversized bed. She couldn't stay in the confines of those comforters all day. Their name giving her no comfort, whatsoever.
The corridor was quiet, no guard stationed outside her door. She swallowed the anxiety that crept up the back of her throat, and cautiously stepped outside the bedroom. Looking to her left, she found no one. Looking to her right, she found the same silence. The weary woman began her journey down the long hallway, her bare feet adding little noise as she crept along. A winding staircase swept downwards, leading to an empty foyer. Again, she found no signs of the demonic guards.
It was almost more unsettling than she would have once believed.
She had become to accustomed to awkwardly walking passed at least three guards before she'd have ever made it to the stairs. But now, not a single soulless being stood before her frantic eyes. Fingertips trailed along the wooden banister, her nervous body descending the staircase.
Upon reaching the bottom of the staircase, she took a cautious moment to glance around the empty surroundings of the downstairs entry way.
"Why haven't you gotten dressed yet?" The demon's voice spoke low, startling the absentminded woman in front of him.
It was brief, the passing moment where fear coarsened through her veins, obliterating any response she thought to even fathom. A weary voice became lost within the ever growing lump of anxiety in her throat. The organ in her chest thumped against her aching rib cage, her body now tense with the uncertainty behind the demon's abrupt question.
When she took too long for the demonic being, he questioned her once more. "Are you unaware that the King has arranged for you to have more than just a night gown?"
She swallowed hard, only able to respond by shaking her head.
He pressed on with the issue. "You cannot continuously wear the same article of clothing. It is not a good image to portray, especially for someone such as yourself."
The last part of his statement left a puzzled expression upon her once nervous face.
"Come with me," he instructed, striding around her timid form.
Uncertain, she hesitated, but a look over his shoulder had her tripping over her feet to keep up with the tall demon. They climbed the stairs in uncomfortable silence. Once at the top, he came to a stop at one of the usually locked doors that lined the hallway. It opened effortlessly without the man laying a single finger upon it and he gestured for her to step inside.
Reluctant as she was, she obeyed with a tentative few steps.
Without a breath of warning, the door slammed shut behind them.
And she whirled around in absolute terror, coming face to face with the demon.
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